tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65358820171798247282024-03-05T04:31:11.465-08:00Curmudgeon StewScraps . . . Seasoned, Simmered, Stirred, Served.the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.comBlogger54125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-18391801398590851362013-07-30T08:54:00.002-07:002013-07-30T08:56:40.198-07:00RemembranceJust a little follow-up on the previous. <br />
<br />
Grandma passed on the early morning of July 3rd. Through a series of unforseen and hardly predictable events, the family decided to have a graveside gathering on Wednesday July 17th. I was asked to bring a little something to say. In attendance were my mom, my two uncles and one aunt, my sister and her husband, my brother and his wife, a niece and one of her children, my daughter and two granddaughters, and my wife. <br />
<br />
In the middle of Florida National (Veterans) Cemetery in Bushnell Florida, we said prayers, we shared memories, we laughed, we were reminded that here in this world we have no continuing city and that we are looking for something eternal, we sang, we said good-bye and we were glad. Then we went to have lunch.<br />
<br />
What really took place was that we were reminded that life is not over when someone stops breathing and slips quietly from this world. It continues in the living remembrance of all that person did and gave. We live our lives in community and in a network of relationships. Proper remembrance is not in some personal office space in a quiet moment between duties. Proper remembrance and gratitude is in community and in a network of relationships. <br />
<br />
May we each be so remembered.<br />
<br />
Today's Influences and Soundtrack:<br />
C.S. Lewis, <em>Out of the Silent Planet</em><br />
Michael W. Smith, <em>Leesha</em>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-12084088266586070942013-06-25T05:53:00.000-07:002013-06-25T06:14:19.018-07:00In the Valley of the Shadow<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My </span><a href="http://curmudgeonstew.blogspot.com/2007/11/topography-of-love.html"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">grandmother</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> is dying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlR-Jidh6oWlt-qLWLGr6dvVqhnbCbCg1Rhri3HiW8sthcGQS1o0h7NE39pqVy3te4102MjXY4XVR9fnknkTLRkDtiL5jPX0USHQgIwkjrUYsYIqQEiXkimP3FL6d0xNLNDi6lXJmAWVc/s1600/love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlR-Jidh6oWlt-qLWLGr6dvVqhnbCbCg1Rhri3HiW8sthcGQS1o0h7NE39pqVy3te4102MjXY4XVR9fnknkTLRkDtiL5jPX0USHQgIwkjrUYsYIqQEiXkimP3FL6d0xNLNDi6lXJmAWVc/s200/love.jpg" width="157" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She is 97 years old and she is at
the moment facing the last days, perhaps the last hours of her life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I cannot tell you how many days I
remember as a child waking up in her little home to the sound of the train
next to her house and to the smell of fresh brewed Eight o’clock coffee as my
grandfather prepared for work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recall pulling
stalks from her giant rhubarb plants in the back garden and eating them raw
with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember an always full
cookie jar in the kitchen, countless Thanksgiving dinners with the whole family
and the aroma of Mogan David wine set at each place for us to celebrate another
year of abundance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember going to
church on Sunday mornings and the huge cottonwood trees around the house that
would greet us as we entered the drive in the afternoon, and evening walks up the hill to her one-armed father-in-law's little vegetable plot.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For the last two years, her memory
has been failing, such that she could not recall her grandchildren when she saw
them and with a bit of a jog could recognize her daughter and son when they
came to visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a manner of speaking, until
4 months ago, she was healthy as a horse and clueless as to where she was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I grieve the conclusion of her
life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything I recall of her
dealings with me were actions of love and tenderness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She always claimed privately that I was her
favorite grandchild, but frankly I’ve always had the suspicion that she said
that to each of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Part of the
heartbreak right now is that if I called her, she wouldn’t know who I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And even worse, she might probably mistake me
for her late husband, an unintentional deception for a poor old woman who has
been left with nothing in life but a walker, a corkboard full of pictures she
can’t identify, and a bed in a nursing home that isn’t really hers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Especially, I grieve that there will
be little remembrance of her life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon
after she flies away, her body will be cremated and what is left will be buried
in a veteran’s memorial plot in northern Florida.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No memorial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No service. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No “to-do”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No family gathering to celebrate a life
well-lived, and given in love and simple duty. No formal pause to reflect on the certainty that we live in the same valley, the same shadow.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hate this modern day that treats
death of a loved one as just one more interruption, one more inconvenience to have to live through until we can get
on with whatever we think is more important. "No big deal" made of a passing on because "we just want to remember them as they once were" or "they wouldn't want it". The fact is, <em><strong>WE</strong></em> don't want it. It strikes too close to home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Family secret:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>my grandmother got pregnant with my mom in 1930 when
she was 16.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She never talked about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took us years to winnow it from family
genealogies and slippery conversations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No
abortion, no release for adoption.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No
one knows the whole story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She simply
decided to have my mom and figure out how to live.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My grandfather married grandmom and adopted
my mom, then they had two more together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I love you Grandma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you for all the joy and love you gave
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you for your gardens and your
little home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you for your quiet faithfulness
and your quiet faith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you for the
gentle heritage you handed off. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank
you for this gift of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I will miss you. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May God remember you in mercy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today’s Influences and Soundtrack:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Elizabeth Elliott, <em>In the Shadow of
the Almighty<o:p></o:p></em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gabriel Faure, <em>Requiem<o:p></o:p></em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3 cups of Eight o’clock coffee<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div>
the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-78446291537037565472013-04-30T05:00:00.002-07:002013-04-30T05:02:04.202-07:00Exhortation . . .When tempted to quit, give up, retire, resign, get lazy or any other of the subtleties that would derail me from usefulness while there is life in my body . . .<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The woods are dark and lovely and deep,<br />
But I have promises to keep,<br />
And miles to go before I sleep,<br />
And miles to go before I sleep . . . <br />
<br />
~ Robert Frost<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Today's Influences and Soundtrack:<br />
<em> Elementary</em><br />
David Darling, <em>Darkwood</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em></em>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-46286803867891067502013-03-26T16:58:00.000-07:002013-03-26T17:03:39.065-07:00Some Reasons Why "Gay Marriage" is Foolish<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;">As of today, the U.S. Supreme Court is
considering arguments on the matter of “gay marriage”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aside from what the court decides, here are
some fundamental reasons why “gay marriage” is not only an absurdity, but downright
foolishness.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Gay
marriage fails to recognize the obvious male-female structure and function of
all the other living species (plants included!) on the planet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any clear thinking observation of the rest of
the biological order reveals how fruitless the gay mindset actually is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It frankly amazes me that the scientists
don’t speak up about this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If survival
of the species is of prime concern, how actually does gay marriage promote
that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus, gay marriage attempts to
redefine "normal" with something that is in the ordinary arrangement
of life clearly not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Biologically, the
entire gay mindset is a dead-ended aberration.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Gay
marriage short-circuits the importance of male-female refinement in committed
relationships.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In terms of personal
development, there is a real distinction between the female perspective of the
world and the male perspective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neither
is more correct than the other, both are needed, and each needs the other. This
is amplified and intensified in committed heterosexual marriage because each of
the parties must work out their differences to the benefit both (or all, if
they have children). Gay marriage stunts the parties involved, and is therefore
of no real benefit in terms of relational development.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If anything, it is a major step backwards.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Gay
marriage fails to recognize (or ignores) the fuller way that male-female
marriage nurtures children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aside from
the obvious fact that gay marriage cannot of itself <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">produce</i> offspring, if the gay couple was able to adopt children it
would developmentally deform them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Enough studies have shown that children develop a healthier self-image,
and a healthier understanding of gender, when they are raised up in a stable
and loving male-female household.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gay
marriage removes those important gender distinctions and simply confuses them for
children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those children grow up to be
members of society, and by that time, their skewed perceptions are virtually
entrenched.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those now grown up children
are not likely to produce a stable society.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Gay
marriage treats marriage as mere sentimentality rather than as something which
has greater purpose, that is, a greater benefit to the society.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We just love one another and deserve the
same rights as other couples who love one another” is an insufficient and silly
reason to redefine all other aspects of a society.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I just love my dog (or horse or sheep)” is
an insufficient and silly reason to rescind bestiality laws and allow a
redefinition of social order. </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;">In
the final analysis, gay marriage redefines marriage in terms of orgasm (after
all, what other reason is there for calling it “gay” marriage?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It forces the rest of society to abandon the
definition of marriage as a life-long committed relationship between a man and
a woman for the benefit of the individuals in that relationship, for the
children of that relationship, and for the society as a whole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To accept gay marriage as part of the new
normal is to renege the whole of social structure to the </span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">aberrant
cravings of a few who need affirmation for something which they don’t even feel
is normal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">But,
heck, we’re Americans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Trendsetters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Progressive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Independent. And we sure don’t want to hurt
anyone’s feelings or rob them of their “rights”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the name of generous-hearted tolerance, we’ll
be happy to accept the unassailable conclusions of our cultural leaders and drink
down the Kool-Aid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then we’ll wonder
what’s going on when our society begins to unravel.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Today’s
Influences and Soundtrack:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Charles
Darwin, <i>Origin of Species</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Morris
Kline, <i>Mathematics for the Non-Mathematician</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Thomas
Kuhn, <i>The Structure of Scientific Revolutions</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Elton
John, <i>Goodbye Yellow Brick Road</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-80581002164604979252012-07-23T13:27:00.002-07:002012-07-23T13:27:30.562-07:00105At least it started like an ordinary day, however much it did not last. The toes dampened as one kicked the grass, and sparrows trembled happily in the pools along the wayside. You could breathe the air without fear because it held the promise of something good or delicious. Mourning doves sang while here and there neighbors greeted one another pleasantly.<br /><br />And then the sun in his summer boredom must have decided to wander. He drew closer to see what there was to see as though to be a consulting partner to everything even though all anybody wanted was for him to be a disinterested observer. He smiled down menacingly on the busyness of earth. Nary a cloud interrupted him. He reached out with a finger, flicked the land as if to hurry along a dilatory bug. Hot winds swept the fields and villages. Trees burned, grass shriveled, neighbors retreated to dark cellar rooms, the birds stopped singing, streams dried up. <br /><br />It could have been an incantation, or some masterful distraction, or business elsewhere that sent him along his way. It was probably only more bored wandering. Whatever it was he moved on. And in the relative cool of the evening, life revived as children, dogs and birds returned to the streets in laughter and play.<br /><br />Word has it, he'll wander back this way tomorrow.<br /><br />Today's Influences and Soundtrack:<br />J.R.R. Tolkien, <i>Tree and Leaf</i><br />J.R.R. Tolkien, <i>Leaf by Niggle</i><br />G.K. Chesterton, <i>Orthodoxy</i><br />Antonio Vivaldi, <i>The Four Seasons</i><br />Conni Ellisor, <i>Blackberry Winter</i><br />Michael Hedges, <i>Aerial Boundaries</i><br />the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-6008430515761219762012-07-19T21:05:00.000-07:002012-07-23T14:07:25.290-07:00A Smear of Lights<br />
<div class="Body1">
One of
the largest solar flares of the decade exploded out from the sun just last
Thursday. Tons of solar particles shot
into space directly at earth, and with that speeding shower came the promise of
<i>Aurora</i>.</div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<i>Aurora</i>! They
never fail to take my breath away. They
are one of the magical and mysterious phenomena of our world. Solar particles get trapped in the magnetic
fields around the planet, and then ionize in those high and rarified regions of
the atmosphere to form glowing curtains and waves that keep deep northern and
deep southern sky-watchers fascinated for long night time hours. The resulting fire in the sky is sometimes
colored lights that shimmer and stream and shift. </div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
Reports
from this last event were promising. Even
the scientists at the south pole were excited.
<i>Aurora australis</i> is more rare than <i>borealis </i>because of the way the
magnetic fields are shaped there. By
Saturday, a brilliant <i>Aurora australis </i>was taking its place above the horizon, holding great promise for a striking <i>borealis </i>in the north.</div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
I've seen
northern lights perhaps six or eight times
in my life, and the memory of them is indelible. I once saw them as far south as the greater
St. Louis region, which was my hope this time.
It's been 14 years since my last Aurora and this was a strong enough
solar flare to push them into the mid latitudes. </div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
But alas,
the city lamps and humidity were too dominant.
I looked six or eight times at various hours of the night for the past
week and disappointedly saw nothing . . . nothing but a smear of high pressure sodium lights
against the horizon.</div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
Today's Influences and Soundtrack: </div>
<div class="Body1">
Ralph Vaughan Williams, <i>Norfolk Rhapsodies</i></div>
<div class="Body1">
Lyles Mays, <i>Lyle Mays</i></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-72477079955265105422012-07-15T13:30:00.000-07:002012-07-15T13:40:06.835-07:00. . . ruthere?Fog. Yes, definitely fog. Drifting in and settling like a thick, mind-smothering film. Obscuring vision, dampening the ears, suppressing the olfactory, anesthetizing thought. Slipping, slipping, slipping into a dumb and useless dormancy.<br />
<br />
But it wasn't sun that cleared the senses. Nor a fresh breeze. It was an owl, rather two owls in conversation, during the late evening hours that penetrated the shroud. And a dog over on the next block. And the promise of northern lights (which was a stupid anticipation this far south, actually) while remembering past displays in other parts of the world.<br />
<br />
A yawn. A stretch. A shake of the head. I feel like a 25-year-old. "Huh? How'd I get here?"<br />
<br />
Today's Influences and Soundtrack:<br />
Cornelius Plantinga, <i>Not The Way It's Supposed To Be</i><br />
James Blaylock, <i>The Rainy Season </i><br />
Hector Berlioz, <i>Symphonie Fantastique</i><br />
Will Ackerman, <i>Past Light</i><br />
<br />the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-87795461613669325682011-10-17T20:39:00.000-07:002011-10-17T21:27:47.270-07:00Strained SynapseI'm really tired of Post-Modern deconstructionism. It's flat and tasteless; and attempting to make something of it is like chewing straw and ice cubes hoping that the flavor of steak and good Shiraz will come forth. The Po-Mo's think they are being clever and shrewdly insightful, but they have nothing to offer that brings any beauty to the life around them. <br /><br />The Saint Louis Symphony performed brilliantly the other evening. Wagner's <span style="font-style:italic;">Flying Dutchman</span> opened the program and Sibelius' <span style="font-style:italic;">Symphony No. 1</span> closed. While No.1 is my least favorite Sibelian symphony, it was a far cry better than the American premiere of Philippe Manoury's 30-minute violin concerto "Synapse", performed by virtuoso James Ehnes. Ehnes and the Symphony were superb in presenting the technical demand that the concerto required, but the piece itself was tedious and irritating and pushed hearer's endurance to the furthest boundary. <br /><br />Hence my comment about Post Moderns. Whatever makes a Po-Mo composer think that he is producing anything of timeless value if there is no recognizable musical form to it? Music is a language that is intuitively understood, yet there was nothing in that piece that was speaking. It strained my synapses, reminding me more of traffic noise than anything else, and to date, traffic noise is not musical. If the Wright brothers had attempted to build their plane utilizing the principles displayed in the Manoury concerto, they would still have a collection of bike parts laying around on the floor, and nothing that had any hope of flying. <br /><br />If they hope to have lasting significant influence, the Post Moderns need to start constructing something that points to the beautiful.<br /><br />Today's Influences and Soundtrack:<br />C.S. Lewis, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Weight of Glory</span><br />Maurice Ravel, <span style="font-style:italic;">Bolero</span><br />Stevie Ray Vaughan, <span style="font-style:italic;">Little Wing</span>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-11074235474733038172011-09-24T19:23:00.000-07:002011-09-25T05:30:43.285-07:00Check<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmBI72ZrYDj_vCE55UoxgO2luoC0I89aPFez2w-mneurDTvkJF_e0yEhKhH-OxGW8h_CxW-1wdZur3CNNGS-JzT1xXZHqWaLZlS2RcZS_SZsskl6SmXormosNHjAaOU-Abqrd_yO1XihY/s1600/100_2156.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmBI72ZrYDj_vCE55UoxgO2luoC0I89aPFez2w-mneurDTvkJF_e0yEhKhH-OxGW8h_CxW-1wdZur3CNNGS-JzT1xXZHqWaLZlS2RcZS_SZsskl6SmXormosNHjAaOU-Abqrd_yO1XihY/s200/100_2156.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656137301210520770" /></a><br />I have a Bucket List.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Of course</span>, I have a Bucket List.<br /><br />You recall what a Bucket List is, don't you? It is a list of things you really want to do before you "kick the bucket", before you die. My list has included seeing the Olympic Peninsula, hugging a Giant Redwood, reading a portion of the Bible on Mars Hill in Greece, hiking a section of the Appalachian Trail, sipping a glass of wine in Tuscany, biking a portion of the Blue Ridge Parkway, seeing the Book of Kells, taking Glider flight lessons, among other things. You might not actually get to do anything on your list, but that's not the point, really. It is intended for dreams and inspiration. And in my case, I've had the rare privilege of getting to do much of what's on my list.<br /><br />I first moved to St. Louis in the summer of 1988 and became immediately captivated by hot air balloons. They weren't very common in the northern suburbs of Chicago from which I hailed, so there was something richly romantic about seeing a colorful balloon in flight in the early morning. Drifting along quietly against a clear blue sky, with the warming sun against the skin, and no sound except what is carried up from the earth gave me a sense of longing, a hunger for a kind of participation in the sky that an airplane doesn't permit. And so, twenty-four years ago, a balloon flight was added to my bucket list. <br /><br />This morning, that part of my list was satisfied. What a morning! It was wonderful. The flight was everything I'd hoped a balloon flight would be. The sky was clear except for some river fog, quiet (except for the occasional burst of the propane heaters which kept the air in the balloon hot) and bright. The sun was warming on the skin and gentle. There were exceptional panoramas of the region. I cannot say enough how much confidence came from the skill, experience, and expertise of <a href="http://balloonsovertherainbow.com/index.asp">Balloons Over The Rainbow</a>. They were phenonmenal!! <br /><br />In addition, I learned about air movement, flight rules governing balloons and the peculiar circumstances that proscribe a life's calling. As an experiential add-on the passengers are "conscripted" to help in getting the balloon ready for flight and putting it away after flight. A ton of fun.<br /><br />It may not be anytime soon, but I hope to do this again.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh75GIGRH78UDD7Sg0Id-Ln3140g7sCBIHP4MQb8MhdKf6kYi0bYeQzmsr3q_gDfjdhoQw0NfZ2o2pj4mcFH_22pQVRSAhgRf_6N7zjeioOlk3dA97AzTzYGU8EKk5UHkycZG-YlMcoMU/s1600/flightline2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 185px; height: 137px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh75GIGRH78UDD7Sg0Id-Ln3140g7sCBIHP4MQb8MhdKf6kYi0bYeQzmsr3q_gDfjdhoQw0NfZ2o2pj4mcFH_22pQVRSAhgRf_6N7zjeioOlk3dA97AzTzYGU8EKk5UHkycZG-YlMcoMU/s200/flightline2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656130072917445522" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEuMDeRTWjVZS8Ij07SGnPOV08p_ZRW5pxa0LJzKgMwdcsFC5x-YSfwRS4HaPvE6L-18kiuZOMeKu1bHCBz2TpO2jdh6Cv8Us2rTYysXyncaTj6EjUzO-Ki3F2gAJzpKo6zaZ2f7Nz6RQ/s1600/flightline.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 185px; height: 113px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEuMDeRTWjVZS8Ij07SGnPOV08p_ZRW5pxa0LJzKgMwdcsFC5x-YSfwRS4HaPvE6L-18kiuZOMeKu1bHCBz2TpO2jdh6Cv8Us2rTYysXyncaTj6EjUzO-Ki3F2gAJzpKo6zaZ2f7Nz6RQ/s200/flightline.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656120612811575826" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Today's Influences and Soundtrack:<br />Michael Ward, <span style="font-style:italic;">Planet Narnia</span><br />Geoffrey Chaucer, <span style="font-style:italic;">Canterbury Tales</span><br />Ralph Vaughan Williams, <span style="font-style:italic;">Organ Preludes to English Hymns</span><br />Ronnie Earl and the Broadcasters, <span style="font-style:italic;">Grateful Heart</span>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-17158904745846931352010-10-11T20:50:00.001-07:002010-10-11T21:03:06.375-07:00Remember Me?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq9kL5ICV4RgKFekdjusxX0EgrCgLcUppTyL7yE8AYWYKWtX39ZSChhmgwW-8zhrmgZY9hJOilVqB7ZQLopoyLwBV0OBWzPxUA3dGTCDP66DU8QgM7NvUdnMJDmXbXpgGnzP2unMey0xw/s1600/Ozymandias.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq9kL5ICV4RgKFekdjusxX0EgrCgLcUppTyL7yE8AYWYKWtX39ZSChhmgwW-8zhrmgZY9hJOilVqB7ZQLopoyLwBV0OBWzPxUA3dGTCDP66DU8QgM7NvUdnMJDmXbXpgGnzP2unMey0xw/s200/Ozymandias.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527002244105326642" /></a>I met a traveler from an antique land <br />Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone <br />Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand, <br />Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, <br />And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, <br />Tell that its sculptor well those passions read <br />Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, <br />The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed: <br />And on the pedestal these words appear: <br />'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: <br /><a href="http://curmudgeonstew.blogspot.com/2007/08/with-sort-of-solemn-fascination-ive.html">Look on my works</a>, ye Mighty, and despair!' <br />Nothing beside remains. Round the decay <br />Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare <br />The lone and level sands stretch far away."<br /><br />Today's Influences and Soundtrack:<br />Percy Bysshe Shelley, <span style="font-style:italic;">Ozymandias</span><br />Quoheleth, <span style="font-style:italic;">Wisdom</span><br />Daniel Keyes, <span style="font-style:italic;">Flowers for Algernon</span><br />Gabriel Faure, <span style="font-style:italic;">Requiem</span><br />Richard Souther, <span style="font-style:italic;">CrossCurrents</span><br />Toad the Wet Sprocket, <span style="font-style:italic;">Dulcinea</span>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-21032683673993173762010-07-10T14:04:00.000-07:002010-07-20T20:21:30.892-07:00Summer FlingI haven't hidden it at all. It's probably nothing serious, but it's fun while it's lasting. Upon the first indicator in May, my wife looked at me, raised her eyebrow, and simply said, "Really?" Remembering an outdoor cafe near a cobbled town square, my only response was a smile, a sigh, an apologetic look, and a shrug of the shoulder. <br /> <br />You see, after 37 years, she knows me well. I'm a red wine kind of guy. I prefer Shiraz in general, but am also partial to Napa Valley Cabernets, New York reds, 2005 Merlots (not a lot of those left), and Argentian Reds. I really like Australian Shiraz, Italian Muscatino and an occasional rustic Tuscan Chianti. And I do recall a marvelous estate Compangolo that was so complex it kept my taste buds confused for a few days. <br /><br />But when she gave me that look, I had just asked for a glass of Pinot Grigio with my salad and sandwich lunch. For three months now, I've had a fling with Pinot Grigio. It's just a summer time thing.<br /><br />The seeds of this little affair were planted 3 years ago during an educational tour to Italy. We were wandering Florence for a day, migrating between the Duomo and Piazza della Signoria. Our group stopped in a little plazaside cafe for lunch. One of our colleagues ordered a Pinot with his pizza, and it sounded so good that nearly the whole rest of our group joined him. The sun glancing off the awnings in the piazza, the heat radiating up from the cobblestone walk, the constant bubble of water at the Fountain of Neptune, the red tile roofs, Italian men wearing classy Italian shoes walking lovely Italian women wearing flowery Italian summer sundresses, the David, Perseus holding Medusa's head in victory in a pavilion across the square . . . it was all so very intoxicating. We needed a glass of Pinot to stabilize our heady afternoon.<br /><br />But that began an association which would grow into a summer affair. Pinot and fresh fruit. Pinot and sweetbread. Pinot and cheese. Pinot and good conversation. All mingled with afternoon warmth and jazz and the wafting fragrance of White Alyssum. Pinot and sweet memories.<br /><br />Some of you reading this, will remember that afternoon. Just know this. I miss you today as I recall with deep fondness those few days traversing the cradle of Western civilization with you. I raise my glass of Pinot to you in love.<br /><br />Today's Influences and Soundtrack:<br />Homer, <em>Odyssey</em><br />Stephen C. Meyers, <em>Signature in the Cell</em><br />Goldmark, <em>Violin Concerto</em><br />David Benoit, <em>Heroes</em><br />Anna Vandas, <em>All I Thought I Knew</em><br />Paramore, <em>Brand New Eyes</em>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-81548224937141353452010-04-18T20:18:00.001-07:002010-04-19T19:13:29.905-07:00Rummaging and Ruminating<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEMs4EsKPBFQpg3BJJ6mLkvwA_Q_wt7gg18ckyvhhCObazR-Kn7pqioEVJV0DbURx1SI0mQyD6N99QCMrYyWwCQ1mwFOLX5SH6aLa9UU6kzxyoloPUzILS96u92oe9-VwuWc7Ytbhgy0Y/s1600/patchoeden.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEMs4EsKPBFQpg3BJJ6mLkvwA_Q_wt7gg18ckyvhhCObazR-Kn7pqioEVJV0DbURx1SI0mQyD6N99QCMrYyWwCQ1mwFOLX5SH6aLa9UU6kzxyoloPUzILS96u92oe9-VwuWc7Ytbhgy0Y/s200/patchoeden.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462036866614262802" /></a><br />This warmer weather has my imagination on fire. I only own 6600 square feet of property, but I have envisioned all of it as garden. Last year the project was a pergola and trellis to enhance the little corner which is my token of Eden. Already I've moved some climbing roses, <span style="font-style:italic;">Clematis</span>, a little <span style="font-style:italic;">Parthenocissus</span> (which will look awesome this fall when it turns brilliant crimson against the wedgewood blue pergola) and planted a few Zinnia, Cypress vine and Morning Glory (little more than a glorified weed, but I love them.) <br /><br />This year, my projects start with a Potting Bench (which I have desired for about 5 years) assembled from various and sundry scraps sitting around the garage. My container deckside gardening will be enhanced by the addition, not to mention the preservation of my aging back. This is largely an evening and weekend project accomplished in little pieces the way that a really good pilot builds an airplane . . . on the fly. I'm designing the thing as I go, drawing my ideas from 4 or 5 plans viewed on the internet; which will make for a fascinating finished product. All I know so far is that it will hold plant containers and potting soil, and be stained wedgewood blue to match the garden structures. <br /><br />After this, I have in mind to build a couple Adirondack chairs for the deck. We had and enjoyed some for a few years, but they were made of pine and proved to be a banquet for some of the indigenous fungal and insect life. These newer versions will be made of Poplar, saturated in poison-laced primer of some kind, then finished in six layers of white lacquer enamel that will take the most determined pest a decade to drill through. Built to last? Yeah, its that important.<br /><br />Today's Influences and Soundtrack:<br />Saul of Tarsus, <span style="font-style:italic;">Letters to the Corinthians</span><br />Westminster Divines, <span style="font-style:italic;">Confession of Faith</span><br />Norton Juster, <span style="font-style:italic;">Phantom Tollbooth</span><br />Conni Ellisor, <span style="font-style:italic;">Conversations in Silence</span><br />Grizzly Bear, <span style="font-style:italic;">Veckatimest</span><br />Gordon Lightfoot, <span style="font-style:italic;">Sundown</span>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-47258519882566491312010-04-03T20:16:00.000-07:002010-04-03T21:17:22.240-07:00Trumpet, Cyclamineus, Triandrus, Split CoronaVisited the Botanical Gardens for while this afternoon, simply to spend time with my much better half and to get away from the house which contains more work than there are years remaining in my life. I frankly didn't expect to see much more than budding trees and greening grass since it's still so early in April. I was pleasantly surprised (and chagrined at my presumption) at finding color everywhere. <br /><br />We were greeted by pink and white blossoms, as well as a heavily perfumed atmosphere in the Camellia House. This set the stage for the rest of our visit. As we left the Camellia House, we saw Tulip and Daffodil gardens with such variety and diversity to disabuse us of thinking in too small a way about the spring. Of particular interest were the small urban gardens with their creative use of space. I never cease to amaze over the ways which a small space can be crafted to be refreshing through the reminder of the First Garden.<br /><br />Back to the Daffodils; such a simple flower, yet the variations speak of great diversity and, dare I say, Imagination. It got me to thinking how boring the world would be without the wide variations that are manifest in every kind of plant and person and thing. A million different flavors and smells and sights and textures and ideas should keep us from thinking the world a mundane place. I cannot help but agree with Samuel Johnson who declared that boredom is arrogance.<br /><br />Today's Influences and Soundtrack:<br />Louise Cowan, <span style="font-style:italic;">Necessity of the Classics</span><br />Harper Lee, <span style="font-style:italic;">To Kill A Mockingbird</span><br />Goldmark, <span style="font-style:italic;">Concerti for Violin</span><br />Puccini, <span style="font-style:italic;">Turandot</span><br />Chip Davis, <span style="font-style:italic;">Sunday Morning Coffee</span>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-49109806151751765642010-03-20T21:27:00.000-07:002010-03-20T21:29:15.176-07:00A Latent LudditeIt is in the unwitting technological commitments that we shape our world. <br /><br />When America committed to the automobile as its primary mode of transportation, it made an individualistic decision that traps individuals in situations they hadn't expected and it creates environments that no one wants. Have you ever looked at Rte 141? There are sections that no pedestrian would dare to step out onto. I saw a man the other day trotting across Rte 141 keeping a constant eye on approaching traffic just to make certain he wouldn't get caught off guard by an oncoming car. The tragedy is that there are no sidewalks on either side of the road where he was. It's as though whoever designed this thing had no notion that someone on foot might actually need to cross the road. It's design has in view only cars and traffic, not people. This is a technological commitment that is inhumane.<br /><br />All this to give you a context for my observations a few days ago that shout of technological commitment we have yet to think about.<br /><br />The ordinary evening routine for my granddaughters is bath, read a book, sing a song, sleep. After her bath, I went into the 2 year old granddaughter's room to read a book to her and was suprised at the sight. She was sitting on a chair playing a coloring game on her mom's iPhone. She held the thing in her hand as naturally as could be, immersed in intense concentration, sliding her little finger across the screen to create a color pattern, tapping to reset the game, and doing it again. It was second nature to her.<br /><br />On the one hand you have to hand it to Apple. The iPhone is so intuitive and entertaining that a 2 year old can operate it. It's also brilliant from a marketing standpoint. If the iPhone is so easy to use, why wouldn't anyone want one? In fact, why would anyone want anything else? The assumption will be that "this is the brand I use." Brilliant . . . Apple locks in the market at 2 years old. But there is another angle to this. As brilliant as what this is, it makes me wonder what expectations she will have in 8 short years when her friends all have the latest generation iPhone and unlimited Internet access to watch on demand movies, listen to on demand music, and read on demand teen webpages, which she of course will not have any income to pay for. And there are already ethical issues in schools and other settings with the prevalence of personal electronic devices.<br /><br />But watching this little girl with an iPhone, I have to ask. . . what unintended consequences have we committed to? Which will be the servant of the other?<br /><br />Today's Influences and Soundtrack:<br />Neil Postman, <span style="font-style:italic;">Technopoly</span><br />Chris Dawson, <span style="font-style:italic;">Dynamics of World History</span><br />John Tesh, <span style="font-style:italic;">Avalon Shores</span><br />Michael Buble, <span style="font-style:italic;">Michael Buble</span><br />Nightnoise, <span style="font-style:italic;">A Retrospective</span>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-88211777710874874442010-02-15T05:06:00.000-08:002010-02-15T05:07:17.879-08:00It's SnowingOh man. I hope this is one of those brief snow showers they were talking about last night. Because if it's not, my name is going to be mud for a long time...the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-75978198446328144632010-01-27T18:54:00.000-08:002010-01-27T20:03:42.055-08:00Quivering Jello and JoyI'm strangely invigorated. I suppose what's strange is that the day has been filled with activity and being surrounded by teens who are operating full throttle, and it's basically overstimulation for an introvert. This is our Drama week and the whole school is involved in the production of <span style="font-style:italic;">Hamlet</span>. It demands all my energy and attention, but the end result is typically enjoyable. Not only do we produce and perform a great play, but there is a coalescing of gifts and service that result in mutual appreciation, deeper respect and reliance, and lasting friendships. I love it even though at the moment my body has been "distilled into quivering jello." (I think that's a paraphrase from the play.)<br /><br />But the point to be amplified is that however exhausted a week like this leaves me, I always walk away awed at the abilities people have and show when you give them half a chance. By way of a couple examples; a 9th grade student is leading and supervising a props committee of 8 that creates stage items such as jewel caskets, swords and thrones. A 7th grader is (with guidance) taking on Production management with budget considerations and activity coordination. An 11th grader is leading Lights and Sound, handling some fairly expensive and sophisticated electronics equipment, and directing others as they set specific stage lighting. How can one not be charged up when working with such capable young people?<br /><br />You know what I especially like about all this? These are the next leaders who will step onto the stage of life to make their mark. And I get to say that I know them.<br /><br />Today's Influences and Soundtrack:<br />Samuel of Ephraim, <span style="font-style:italic;">Oracles</span><br />Harper Lee, <span style="font-style:italic;">To Kill A Mockingbird</span><br />Nathan Clark George, <span style="font-style:italic;">Words For Everyday</span><br />Michael Hedges, <span style="font-style:italic;">Aerial Boundaries</span><br />Mozart, <span style="font-style:italic;">Symphony No. 26</span>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-1535003326577207232009-10-30T21:27:00.000-07:002009-11-03T18:51:39.294-08:00Who Needs Gold?The best of Life is a delightful compilation of the smallest seemingly inconsequential elements.<br /><br />Two of my students gave oral exams today and awed me with their comprehension of world history, moral philosophy, literature and music. In both cases, they were intelligent, personable, fun and instructive. I walked away wiser than when I arrived.<br /><br />My brandy tastes good tonight. <br /><br />I'm gratified that after 5 days the rain has ended. <br /><br />I don't mind the close, dark, autumn skies because they suggest to me that I ought to open a classic work and contemplate the condition of man or perhaps the condition of my soul. They ask me to start a fire and stare into the flames, and simultaneously to stare into my core commitments. <br /><br />As the sky clears and the constellations beckon for my attention, I feel relief for the expectation of a bright and unclouded sunrise. I only wish the morning would be filled with birdsong. The season doesn't hold very much promise for that, however. "<span style="font-style:italic;">She's glad the birds are gone away/ she's glad her simple worsted gray is silver now with clinging mist.</span>"<br /><br />My four-year-old granddaughter spends the night. Earlier, she sat quietly in my arms, leaned her head against my chest and watched a video, the warmth and relaxation of her little body a richness to my soul filling me with delight. At bed-time, she voluntarily scooted over and comfortably leaned against me again as I read to her the "Unbouncing of Tigger." What better expression of love and trust could one ask from a 4-year-old?<br /><br />Today's Influences and Soundtrack: <br />Robert Frost, <span style="font-style:italic;">My November Guest</span><br />Robert Littlejohn, <span style="font-style:italic;">Wisdom and Eloquence</span><br />Fancis Thompson, <span style="font-style:italic;">Hound of Heaven</span><br />Sally Shapiro, <span style="font-style:italic;">Dying in Africa</span><br />Hem, <span style="font-style:italic;">Eveningland</span><br />Ludwig von Beethoven, <span style="font-style:italic;">Symphony No. 6 "Pastoral"</span>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-30081720805042229892009-09-26T11:29:00.000-07:002009-09-26T12:12:09.627-07:00Give Me A SignI stood wrinkling my nose at a brown sign that said, "Doggie waste is unhealthy for children and the community. Please clean up after your pet." It was kind of odd because the message didn't pertain to me, I don't have a dog, and I wasn't walking a dog ... but apparently this was exactly where I wanted to be. "Are you sure this is it?," I asked. My friend stared at his iPhone. "Yeah. But keep in mind, that it only has a twenty foot accuracy." This was my maiden voyage in geocaching. <br /><br />Such was the outcome of dinner. My wife was out with her girlfriends this evening, so I met my friend at Chevy's. He's my age and we enjoy just getting together. Sometimes its for nothing more than to listen to a baseball game and burn a cigar. Tonight it was Mexican.<br /><br />During dinner he asks if I've ever heard of geocaching. It turns out, that on his latest visit with the Oklahoma grandkids, they all went geocaching for the day and had a blast. For those of you who aren't in the loop, geocaching (check it out here <a href="http://www.geocaching.com">www.geocaching.com</a>) is a contemporary form of orienteering, but it's done with GPS devices rather than maps and compasses, and there is usually a little treasure or registration pad at the geocache site. We pulled out the iPhone to search for geocache sites within reasonable distance of the restaraunt and were surprised to find ten, one within a quarter mile. "Wanna do it?" I asked. "It's just over there."<br /><br />Part of the geocaching fun is finding the hidden cache . It can be very small and subtly in the open (like one of those hollow rocks for hiding house keys), or it can be the size of a shoebox and cleverly hidden. So now you have to imagine a couple of old guys, who as far as anybody knows could be lost Alzheimers patients, wandering back and forth between three park signs at 6:30 in the evening. My friend has memory issues and I can't see. So I'm down in the grass looking at rocks through my bifocals and he's staring at his GPS, when a woman came out from her home asked, "What are you doing?" My friend looked at me as if to say, "I'm not sure ... what ARE we doing?" I just squinted at him and said, "You've got the iPhone." She shook her head and smiled knowingly. "If you are geocaching," she said, "then you're warm." and walked away. This was obviously something she's seen a few dozen times before. She's probably the person who set this one up. And she's probably hidden a camera and has gotten footage. Sometime soon I'm going to see myself on YouTube crawling around with my nose in the grass at the foot of a Doggie Waste sign. <br /><br />Within a few minutes, we found the cache in a magnetic key box tucked away behind a frame 12 feet away from the original target. We autographed the tiny registration book, mustered our remaining dignity and called it an evening. <br /><br />Today's Influences and Soundtrack:<br />James Thurber, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Thurber Carnival</span><br />P.G. Wodehouse, <span style="font-style:italic;">Golf Omnibus</span><br />Pat Metheny, <span style="font-style:italic;">Still Life Talking</span><br />J.S. Bach, <span style="font-style:italic;">Violin Sonata</span>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-3290316024156021002009-09-24T18:40:00.000-07:002009-09-24T18:59:06.022-07:00Confessions For AllTonight its Silbelius ... all night long. So little time. I have 7.6 hours of music and only 4.5 hours until I turn into a pumpkin.<br /><br />My introduction to the work of Jean Sibelius took place in high school when I participated in the symphonic band. For the Spring concert of my sophomore year we performed <span style="font-style:italic;">Finlandia</span>, and being a trombone - baritone player, I got charged up by the opening bars. Ominous, brooding, imposing, anticipatory, dark and dramatic, they stirred in me some sense of adventure and called to life the expectation of descent from a stony vista overlook into a fog filled ravine with a defined notion of the goal. Sounds like a lot for a piece of music, but once you've experienced it, there's no going back. In fact, Allen Bloom (<span style="font-style:italic;">Closing of the American Mind</span>) revels in such experience while detesting rock and roll because rock merely stirs juvenile passions with no context for the richer appreciation of achievement. While preparing for the concert I purchased an LP of <span style="font-style:italic;">Finlandia</span>, <span style="font-style:italic;">En Saga</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">The Swan of Tuonela</span>. I drove my poor mom crazy, because the high volume wasn't high enough.<br /><br />Shortly after that concert, I found a recording of <span style="font-style:italic;">Symphony No. 5</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">Pohjola's Daughter</span>. That was it, I was hooked. The liner notes declared Sibelius' compositions to be nationalistic, anchored in his love of the Finnish landscape and the brooding shadows of the fjords. While I barely comprehended nationalism, I did detect that there was more. There was ancient story, legend, mythos, identity of people and their place. His music was a conversation concerning the battles of the gods and the kings. It recalls the stealthy approach of Beowulf to Grendel and the bloodletting that ensued. It reminisces about the Volsung and their exploits. It prefigures the ride of the Rohirrim against the amassed forces of the Dark Tower on the wide fields of Pellinor outside Minas Tirith. <br /><br />It was ten years later when I stumbled upon yet a fourth recording of <span style="font-style:italic;">Symphony No. 4</span> that I actually fell in love with Sibelius. I had heard the 4th Symphony several times before and didn't like it. I don't know what it was exactly: ... sluggish, swampish, confused, a bad adagio, fairies dancing over a slime pit?? it was hard to put my finger on. These were probably the same kind of reasons that audiences hated it when Sibelius first performed it ...he was booed off of one stage. But he never changed it .. he was resolved... this is how it would be. The recording that captured me was by Paavo Berglund and the Helsinki Orchestra. Berglund interpreted the symphony with a clarity and vigor that I had not heard before. (This isn't really surprising since composers occasionally find someone else who do a better job at communicating their compositions; Samuel Barber for example relied upon Thomas Schippers to present his work.) Somewhere deep in the liner notes an aside was made regarding Sibelius' health; he wrote the symphony during a time when he was fearful of throat cancer and was awaiting the results of tests. That was it. And that's where I fell in love. The symphony was brooding worry laced with dark patience and the struggle for hope. No wonder he wouldn't change a note of it. It was his very heart and psyche. To the devil with anyone who didn't like it. His every composition was a letter, a poem, a diary entry, a confession. And thus with every other composer ...<br /><br />Tonight its Sibelius. So much music, and so little time.<br /><br />Today's Influences and Soundtrack:<br />Jean Sibelius, <span style="font-style:italic;">Finlandia</span><br /> <span style="font-style:italic;">En Saga</span><br /> <span style="font-style:italic;">Pohjola's Daughter</span><br /> <span style="font-style:italic;">Swan of Tuonela</span><br /> <span style="font-style:italic;">Valse Triste</span><br /> <span style="font-style:italic;">Symphony No. 4</span><br /> <span style="font-style:italic;">Symphony No. 7</span><br /> <span style="font-style:italic;">Scenes Historique</span><br /> <span style="font-style:italic;">Pelleas et Mellisande</span><br /> <span style="font-style:italic;">Symphony No. 2<br /></span>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-20617464502067595492009-09-18T07:03:00.000-07:002009-09-18T07:12:39.364-07:00Lawyer Shaped Life<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJ2fBDUoA9WC3TMPlESZV1XhOq3raFk964Q2JtaNOG4SjrRElIBI2f3Bb1qF1bY0NU0PcTeQR_wr42Qd7sAWTRCuFtufPpzd2Dhdv1FjBOPgd6L4uClHsfBeto-IegAwyPoIA28EFYSQ/s1600-h/arcadia.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 168px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJ2fBDUoA9WC3TMPlESZV1XhOq3raFk964Q2JtaNOG4SjrRElIBI2f3Bb1qF1bY0NU0PcTeQR_wr42Qd7sAWTRCuFtufPpzd2Dhdv1FjBOPgd6L4uClHsfBeto-IegAwyPoIA28EFYSQ/s200/arcadia.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382808951123241890" /></a><br />Groping around in my daughter's kitchen this morning I stumbled on a package of Cedar Grilling planks. I perused the packaging while imagining the meal possibilities where they could be used when my eye landed on The Warning.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">California Proposition 65 Warning:<br />Combustion of wood or charcoal products may contain chemicals known to the state of California to cause cancer, birth defects, and/or reproductive harm. This warning is required and issued by pursuant to California Health & Safety Code Section 25249.6</span><br /><br />I cannot imagine living in a place where leaders were so hyper-concerned about death or perfect health that it was required by law to warn people that harm could come from burning wood. One would think that they had evolved in paradise and were suddenly introduced to the horrible reality of harm; that they never had an occasion to burn wood or get their eyebrows singed by the flame. When in the 10,000 years that we have been wandering around on planet Earth did we not figure out that life is dangerous? <br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Et In Arcadia Ego</span><br /><br />Very soon we should expect to see the following warning on sidewalks and in fields:<br /><br />California Proposition 721 Warning:<br />Walking in the upright position entails risks of loss of balance and subjection to gravity, and is known in the state of California and throughout the world to result in broken bones, contusions and even death. For best results, please crawl. This warning issued by pursuant to California Health & Safety Code.<br /><br />Wouldn't that be a boon for Health Care lawyers?<br /><br />Today's Influences and Soundtrack:<br />Tim Richardson, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Garden Book</span><br />Francis Schaeffer, <span style="font-style:italic;">Pollution and the Death of Man</span><br />Will Ackerman, <span style="font-style:italic;">Past Light</span><br />Ralph Vaughan Williams, <span style="font-style:italic;">Orchestral Essays</span>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-32053904787033223122009-09-13T19:21:00.000-07:002009-09-13T19:43:27.346-07:00The Path Out and BackI was asked during lunch conversation today who Wendell Berry is. What mostly came to my mind was his set of poems entitled <span style="font-style:italic;">The Country of Marriage</span>. And so I picked them up this afternoon to linger over them again. Refreshing poems well-rooted in the soil.<br /><br />I’ve been married 36 years. Sometimes I thrash and chafe, not wanting to be married. (I am certainly not alone in this occasional squall.) When it happens it does so for any number of reasons that all seem to be anchored in one; namely that I am profoundly selfish and truly ignorant of what I am. It’s a radically stupid attitude to have since to the best of my recollection, every blessing I’ve ever received has come to me in marriage. <br /><br />As I write this evening, I am not writing out of that dissatisfaction. I am content in my marriage.<br /><br />In one of Berry’s poems, he describes his marriage as a path that leads from a well tended garden into the unknown sections of a dark woods. The known allows him to strike out into the unknown with a fresh sense of stability and anchoring. But then being in the unknown produces a deep sense of longing to return to the comfort of the known.<br /><br />This is true of my marriage. There are large portions of it that are a lovely, orderly, well tended garden with paths that thread through groupings of fragrant blossoms and nourishing fruit. Familiarity of those paths lead me into dark regions that I don’t know very well at all. (What man could not say this about his wife?) Those dark areas, while fascinating, become unnerving, being filled with peculiar vibrations and scents and movements that startle and keep one off balance. After a short while, I take the return path with deeper appreciation to the safety of the known, realizing that the dark areas are bigger than I suspected and what is unknown will only ever be known slowly.<br /><br />In this ebb and flow of content and discontent, I concede that my marriage is not an end-all-be-all in the Romantic ideal, but a country to be explored and mapped, settled and sometimes left wild. <br /> <br /><br />Today’s Influences and Soundtrack:<br />Wendell Berry, <span style="font-style:italic;">Collected Poems</span><br />J.S. Bach, <span style="font-style:italic;">Goldberg Variations, Cello Suites</span><br />Pat Metheny, <span style="font-style:italic;">Still Life Talking</span>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-73441790419288104502009-09-10T21:52:00.000-07:002009-09-10T22:04:59.414-07:00Looking for RenewalTonite, all the old pains of a lifetime have come back to visit. <br /><br />I fell down the stairs, about two hours ago, and every injury I sustained while growing up seems to have been renewed. When I was a kid, I was climbing an old pear tree in my grandmother’s yard and as I reached up I grabbed a dead branch. The branch gave way and I watched in wonder as 16 shades of green rushed upward to a blue sky just before I landed on my back. I couldn’t straighten myself for two days. Back troubles have plagued me since.<br /><br />When in high school, I got into a psychological scuffle with a friend and kicked his books off the stage where we were practicing for a musical. He made gestures as if to reconcile and reached up his hand in order to shake on peace. When I grasped his hand, he pulled me off the stage, where I crashed headfirst into the orchestra pit. I broke my collar bone and had a concussion for three days. Another friend drove me to the hospital and he reported that the only thing I did was ask him every 20 seconds “What time is it?” for more than an hour. When the weather changes, my collar bone notifies me.<br /><br />When living in New York, I fell off the roof of a house, shattered my elbow, fractured my hip and gave myself a concussion that lasted two days. In surgery, they removed the pieces of elbow because they couldn’t reconstruct it, and I spent 6 weeks doing therapy to get my range of motion back. The leftovers were chronic arthritis type weakness and pain in the right arm. but that is consolation when i think that I should have been paralyzed. <br /><br />But deeper than these, I talked with a woman today who just gave her child to another for adoption and she is grieving over what she will not experience and enjoy; all those blessings of motherhood as he grows up. She won’t get the privilege of the first laugh, the first steps, learning to read and sing, t-ball games and puppy love. In addition, she has two other kids that she hasn’t been with in two years and is feeling the loss of motherly connection with them. Soon she will move to a new city, having been emptied of the common joys of life because of bad choices with ugly consequences. <br /><br />My body hurts and my heart hurts. I long for the world to be renewed.<br /><br />“Life is pain, Princess. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something.” -Princess Bride.<br /><br />Today’s Influences and Soundtrack:<br />J.R.R. Tolkien, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Two Towers</span>.<br />Solomon of Israel, <span style="font-style:italic;">Proverbs of the Ancient Middle East</span>.<br />Roy Whelden, <span style="font-style:italic;">Galax</span><br />Richard Souther, <span style="font-style:italic;">Cross Currents</span><br />G.F. Handel, <span style="font-style:italic;">Water Music<br /></span>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-60650705501813186942009-04-10T21:17:00.000-07:002009-04-11T06:19:45.428-07:00Good?I wonder how many people would look at this day as the most important day of the year? One of the deepest problems with western civilization in the heights of these days is its appalling nearsightedness. It has concluded that pop culture and mass culture, the acceptable production of our consumerist times, are the pinnacle and subsistence of existence. You know, rock stars, movie heroines, Abercrombie and Fitch, iPhone, and a myriad of other superfluous and silly things that we think we can’t live without. It assumes that man is the solution for all his stupid little needs. All of these amount to so very little in the larger scheme of reality.<br /><br />There was a time when the calendar of western civilization was governed by the events of the religious year. Moreso, the calendar of western civilization was governed by Christianity. Not because of some religious hegemony, but because the culture as a whole really did understand that Jesus the anointed rose from the dead (by affirmation of Tacitus, Josephus and Saul of Tarsus), and as such it should shape all existence under his messiahship. (For the modernist who wants to wretch at this, I suggest reading some older history books; i.e., those written before 1900, and not modern. The new ones have been corrupted with the most insidious and self-absorbed scientism and revisionism. Man is so remarkably arrogant.) The calendar moved from Advent to Lent to Pentecost to Whitsunday and so on. The progression of time was marked by the significant occurrences in the history of mankind. Not those anchored in a scientific interpretation of the universe, but those that mark the promise and inauguration of renewal.<br /><br />Today, the darkest and most difficult and most necessary of days, is the best of all. The Jewish messiah, the so-called anointed, was executed by civil determination, bearing in his person and body the terminal sentence of mankind as declared by the bar of absolute and perfect justice. According to Christian tradition, all things pointed forward to this day, and all things point back to this day. In exchange, mankind receives not judgment, but blessing and gifting which leads to renewal and hope. It is because of this that western civilization stands out from all others as being the most vigorous, the most creative, the most dynamic, and the most productive of all other civilizations. We have yet to see the endpoint and the fruit of such a hard and significant day of sacrifice. <br /><br />Want to know why this day is declared “good”? Because, once, everything justice demanded was satisfied, and what was left in its place was undeserved and unearned love. How could anyone explain that?<br /><br />Today’s Influences and Soundtrack:<br />Micah of Moresheth, <span style="font-style:italic;">Oracles</span><br />Richard Gamble, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Great Tradition</span><br />Gioachino Rossini, <span style="font-style:italic;">String Quartets</span><br />Pat Metheny, <span style="font-style:italic;">American Garage<br /></span>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-42843801055156530952009-04-06T18:51:00.000-07:002009-04-06T18:57:23.646-07:00Dinner (revised)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOtvgoHTQ8kWc_DlFn-foQSDNhJtcGVzerdtk1LFsQJzI4l2oBiQ9Wj7H8fNHeciA0bCsbsuvZrjuibQ_vEcDw6MyovUp3PNhtlNsvlLrdW8aazkqsqxfDJNGRV3-0wjVV_NUEI45KRnI/s1600-h/dinner.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOtvgoHTQ8kWc_DlFn-foQSDNhJtcGVzerdtk1LFsQJzI4l2oBiQ9Wj7H8fNHeciA0bCsbsuvZrjuibQ_vEcDw6MyovUp3PNhtlNsvlLrdW8aazkqsqxfDJNGRV3-0wjVV_NUEI45KRnI/s200/dinner.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321761815624915474" /></a>I'm in recovery mode in greater St. Louis. <br /><br />I had a heart attack on Friday. But I’m not sure it was really a heart attack. The cardiologist who did the catheterization said it was a mild heart attack, but another cardiologist who works in a different hospital says its only a heart attack if there is muscle damage. I didn’t have any pain and there hasn’t been any muscle damage, but there was a plugged artery that they roto-rootered and put in a culvert. But in either case, attack or no, they did this procedure and now I’m in recovery mode.<br /><br />My dad went through open heart surgery when he was 54 years old. He was six weeks in recovering from it. I had a heart catheterization on Friday (I was awake the whole time), walked out of ICU to the telemetry wing on Saturday, and was home kicking a soccer ball to my granddaughter on Sunday afternoon. I am awed and grateful for the day of medical arts in which I live.<br /><br />Recovery mode has been a kind of paradigm shift, however. It's one thing when your general physician says you need to watch what you eat because there's too many cookies in your diet, and another when your cardiologist says, "Here's what you'll be ingesting each day for the next year."<br /><br />When I walked out of the hospital yesterday I was given two sheets of instructions for my medications. This is the craziest stew I've ever had. Each day I get to take: Metoprolol tartrate, Lisinopril, Plavix, Lipitor, Niaspan, Centrum Silver, Aspirin, and these massive Fish Oil capsules (they are as big as olives). I also get to keep on hand some Nitroglycerin tablets. The weird part about that is the only thing I've ever known nitro to be used for was fuel in funnycars. For those of you who don't know much about dragstrips, I can't help you here. I keep looking for a warning label that says "Don't chew: danger of explosion" but I'm not finding it. After I take the meds, if there is room left over, I get to have food.<br /><br />Have you ever wondered where fish oil comes from? Get this ... herring, anchovy, mackerel, sardine, menhaden, smelt, tuna and sand lance. These are things no one ever normally puts in their mouth, but I guess it’s okay if they’ve been converted to capsule form. And what is fish oil anyway? The polite language on the label says "fish ingredients". What do they do, put the fish in a press and squeeze the oil out? Hmm. Yeah ... that's like "beef byproducts". I've decided to never eat anything that is simply labeled "beef byproducts". We were surrounded by dairy farms when we lived in New York. I've seen the fields littered with cow byproducts. *sigh*... so I'm eating fish byproducts. Smells like fish byproducts. At least its promoted as Mercury Free. I sure wouldn’t want gain weight.<br /><br />So, aside from listening to the Dove chocolate whisper sweet teases to me, I've been resting, reading, listening to music and harassing my wife. (I want her to be happy when I return to work). I went for a 1-mile walk today. Tomorrow I see my docs to find out what I can and cannot do for the next few weeks. <br /><br />What comes of this though is the pointed reminder that, actually, today was never guaranteed to me. Now that it’s here, it’s a good day and I’m glad for it.<br /><br />Today’s Influences and Soundtrack:<br />Solomon of Israel, <span style="font-style:italic;">Proverbs from the Persian World</span><br />Greg Mortgensen, <span style="font-style:italic;">Three Cups of Tea</span><br />Isaac Asimov, <span style="font-style:italic;">Second Foundation</span><br />Ralph Vaughan-Williams, <span style="font-style:italic;">Symphony No. 3</span><br />Diamond Rio, <span style="font-style:italic;">Completely</span><br />Jeff Buckley, <span style="font-style:italic;">Grace</span>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6535882017179824728.post-765679706993292642009-03-19T19:57:00.000-07:002009-03-19T20:26:28.340-07:00Leprechaun Lights<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHK5mLRWBg3WjGC-AKn823kZKlg7Mtpbl-uh1fnEQTXobUJTuzUYx_gMyf2wHRZ8MphDROLB2GMdFnQnI6PFumxZ_ZjHr-_Rcm4-fGzf45SSxBqH1eU-LSdSqibyB8U10VXrul9UVnLnQ/s1600-h/Leprecaun+Lights.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10pt 10px 0px; float:left ; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHK5mLRWBg3WjGC-AKn823kZKlg7Mtpbl-uh1fnEQTXobUJTuzUYx_gMyf2wHRZ8MphDROLB2GMdFnQnI6PFumxZ_ZjHr-_Rcm4-fGzf45SSxBqH1eU-LSdSqibyB8U10VXrul9UVnLnQ/s200/Leprecaun+Lights.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315099364642367778" border="0" /></a>Unintentionally, my house was decorated for St. Patrick’s Day.<br /><br />The only time I put lights on my house is for Christmas as I am still at heart a child. My deck has rope lighting as an accent and low level enhancement, but its not intended to be as obvious as Christmas lights. I hate Halloween lights because I think putting orange lights on your house for such a day is stupid. It’s a complete marketing gimmick and doesn’t make sense. Seriously, what’s to celebrate about dead things and witches? If that kind of stuff was really laying on our front lawn, we’d be rather freaked out. We’d call the police and want an animal service to come haul it away. <br /><br />And electric hearts for Valentine’s? Flashing red and pink. How romantic.<br /><br />But Tuesday morning as my day was beginning, I couldn’t help but chuckle. I was bombarded with the lights of the little people. There were green LED’s everywhere. Green LED on my stereo. Green LED on my clock radio. Green LED’s on my telephone modem. Green LED’s on my Internet modem. Green LED’s on my wireless router. Green LED on my computer waiting in standby and Green LED on its’ powerblock. Green LED’s all over the printer. Green LED on the microwave. Green LED on the coffeemaker. Green LED on the GFCI circuits in my kitchen. Green LED on the portable DVD player. Green LED on the automatic dishwasher. Green LED on the stove.<br /><br />How did we ever get to the point that we needed Green LED’s on everything? It sort of reminds me of the “Check Engine” light on the dashboard of my car. What is it telling me really? Pretty soon I expect I’ll see a Green LED on my toothbrush (“…<span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-style: italic;">ready for brushing</span> … <span style="font-family: georgia; font-style: italic;">thank you for your cooperation</span> …”)<br /><br />My house used to be dark at night. Good God! … save me from the electrical engineers!<br /><br />Today’s Influences and Soundtrack:<br />Solomon of Israel, <span style="font-style: italic;">Proverbs from the Persian world.</span><br />Chad Oliver, <span style="font-style: italic;">Rite of Passage</span><br />Isaac Asimov, <span style="font-style: italic;">Foundation and Empire</span><br />Jean Sibelius, <span style="font-style: italic;">Symphony No. 7</span><br />Bob James, <span style="font-style: italic;">Angels of Shanghai</span><br />Moby, <span style="font-style: italic;">Porcelain</span>the Curmudgeonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10880169673924736658noreply@blogger.com0